


how the mouth changes its shape

by unspuncreature



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Magical Realism, Professor Obi-Wan Kenobi, Queer Themes, Slow Burn, Student Anakin Skywalker, endgame obikin, gratuitous references, internalized ableism, just a normal college au :-), nothing to see here :-), oh my god they were roommates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:08:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28299468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unspuncreature/pseuds/unspuncreature
Summary: Anakin stumbles into her college career as she does everything else: heart first, head second.Obi-Wan reads, writes, and tries her best not to get involved.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 11
Kudos: 23





	1. small minute given up

**Author's Note:**

> This work is an amalgamation of my passion for making everything that I touch queer, the tragic catharsis that permeates the Star Wars Prequels/TCW, and my own experiences at a tiny rural liberal arts college. This is also probably the most self-indulgent thing I've ever written.

It’s a slow crawl up the road towards campus. The hill winds gently up and up and then, in a burst, the wall of trees on either side of the road breaks, flattening out to lush marsh to the east and the rough river shoreline to the west. The afternoon sun is blinding even on the wind-whipped water and Anakin squints against it, slowing down to round left towards what must be the admissions office if the chirping GPS is any indication. The tires of her truck crunch against the gravel and she parks in the precariously sloped lot, letting go of a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

She unbuckles and flips down her sunvisor and then her mirror, not really sure what she’s looking for, and runs her left hand through her bangs as she recites her mental checklist:  _ map, student ID, room key, food, bathroom. _ Her stomach growls pathetically.  _ Maybe not in that order. _

Anakin is silently grateful that there isn’t anyone in the parking lot to see her nearly trip out of her truck, legs still wobbly from the last six hour stretch on the highway. 

The receptionist inside the quaint little building greets Anakin warmly and presses a cool cup of water into her hands with a sincere smile. He gestures for Anakin to sit in one of many mismatched armchairs set about the office like a sunroom.

“You look like you’ve had a long drive. You made it here just in time, too. Any later and they would’ve made you go all the way around to the Campus Center.”

“I am so sorry.” She rubs the back of her neck sheepishly, elbow clicking. “My phone’s GPS lost signal for a while and I took a few wrong turns before I finally found this place.”

“That’s okay, you’ll figure out the area soon enough. It’s easier if you take the road back around the lacrosse field next time, it’s a straight shot,” he adds, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.

Anakin nods dumbly and takes a sip of her water, her bladder panging in protest.

“Oh! You probably want your checklist. Let me find your orientation packet and get you on your way. What’s your last name?”

“Skywalker.”

The man turns to his desk and thumbs through a few stacks of gold folders emblazoned with the college’s crest. 

“Transfers… Skywalker… Anakin. Here we go, this must be you. Inside, there should be a campus map, a schedule of activities for orientation weekend, your parking sticker, your room key, and the student handbook.”

Anakin eagerly takes the folder from him, flipping quickly through each page without noting much of anything.  _ Huh. _ Her eyebrows furrow and she flips through one more time, just to make sure.

“Uh, I have everything else, but I think they forgot to put my room key in here.”

The receptionist looks genuinely confused and Anakin starts to panic a little. Maybe she  _ did _ show up too late. Or maybe she came on the wrong day. Maybe she was in the wrong state, at the wrong school. Even worse, maybe she was at the right school, but they couldn’t find a room for her.  _ Oh, god.  _ She could do a few weeks in the back of her truck, sure. But not a whole semester. How was she going to charge her phone or her laptop? Wait, how was she going to charge her  _ arm? _

The dull creak of weight shifting on the floorboards shakes Anakin from the depths of her personal catastrophe. 

“I see what happened,” the receptionist finally says, glancing up from a monitor Anakin was just noticing. “You’ll have to collect a copy of your key from Res Life. They’re already gone for the day, but you can just grab it tomorrow morning when you get your student ID.”

She shifts her weight uncomfortably, not really understanding. “Okay. Where am I supposed to stay tonight, though?”

He laughs at her then, not unkindly, but Anakin is a little bitter that she’s not in on the joke. “You can just move into your townhouse tonight. Your housemate is already there, I’m sure she’ll let you in.”

“Townhouse?” Of course she wouldn’t be lucky enough to be placed in a single room, but Anakin was expecting to at least be placed in a dorm.

“Yes, it’s the last one down on the Greens. You must’ve gotten the last room available on the whole campus.”

Maybe this is good. Maybe she doesn’t need the cookie-cutter college experience. 

The receptionist gives her a withering look above his glasses. “You didn’t know? You should have gotten an email about your housing placement after you received your acceptance letter.”

Anakin shakes her head a little, accidentally crinkling the plastic cup of water in her prosthetic hand.

“Well, you can always try to take it up with your RA if you have any problems. For now, I would just get settled for the afternoon. You have probably an hour or so until you have to go meet your orientation group. Do you need directions?”

Anakin knows when she’s being dismissed. Her cup clips the rim of the trash can next to the door when she tosses it in.

“No, I’ll be fine. Thanks.”

She forgot to ask if she could use the bathroom.


	2. trace the bad parts back to your mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we work the same way: slightly unsure and scared of everything

The lights are on when Anakin finally reaches the house. It's the only house in their row without its occupants' names written on themed construction paper cutouts in thick sharpie, which strikes her as odd. Hopefully she has the right place. A thick layer of ivy winds its way lazily up the dark brick facade and around the window frames, cast in a warm glow by the light emanating from inside. It’s picturesque and charming in a way that makes Anakin’s stomach lurch a little.

She has to pee  _ so _ badly.

Before she can change her mind, Anakin forces her flesh hand to knock on the red wooden door a few times, shifting her weight back and forth between her feet uncomfortably as she waits. Her shoulders ache under the weight of her belongings. It’s not much - her duffel bag filled to bursting with the meager entirety of her wardrobe; her laptop bag heavy with her computer, chargers, and battery packs; and a grocery bag of her favorite posters rolled up carefully into cardboard tubes.

Anakin doesn’t even know if she has the energy to really unpack anything tonight. She just wants to get inside and get introductions over with so she can hopefully not be late to her orientation meeting. The paper in her packet, tossed onto her passenger's seat in favor of the campus map, said she was expected to meet her orientation group at six near the anthropology building. Probably legally mandatory Code of Conduct bullshit and socially mandatory mingling with other transfer students. 

Her prosthetic arm whirs a little with exertion as her duffel bag slips in her grip. She knocks again, harder this time. Anakin briefly considers trying the doorknob, but doesnt't want her first impression on her hosuemate to be a perceived felony. She has to stick it out with this person for at least the first semester. She considers this further and grimaces as the reality of mindful cohabitation plucks at her nerves, hoping maybe her glare will bore a hole in the door. At this rate, she should probably just head back to her truck and try again later so she can find the anthropology building before-

Muffled footsteps. A quiet curse. Silence, and then an accented voice carries through the solid weight of the door as its owner seems to fiddle with a metal latch on the other side.

"I'm terribly sorry, I expected you earlier this afternoon, so when you didn't show, I assumed- well, I wasn't sure."

The deadbolt clicks and the door swings open, bathing Anakin in a swath of light and cool, conditioned air, a relief against the muggy beginnings of dusk.

The woman before her is petite but not slight. She's shorter than Anakin, but so are most other women. Her auburn hair is pulled neatly back into a low bun, and a few stray strands fall across her face from where the rest of her bangs are tucked behind her ear.

Anakin notes all of this with dull frustration, likely not hiding it very well, just waiting to be let into her own house.

The woman doesn't offer to help with Anakin's bags as she ushers her inside with a sharp nod, but she doesn't miss the lingering gaze on her prosthetic hand.

"Sorry, I know you probably want to do the whole introduction thing, but I have had to pee for the past three hours," Anakin manages awkwardly, setting her bags down on the first surface she could find, which happens to be the small dining room table.

"Upstairs on your left."

Anakin can't help but notice, as she's making her way back down the stairs, how  _ lived-in _ the space looks. For one, the bathroom doesn't look like a college student's bathroom. Not that Anakin has any direct experience, but c'mon: there's two sets of handtowels. And they're  _ folded. _ Everything looks neat and clean and spartan, but the house itself hums with presence. The smell of sandalwood and chamomile meets Anakin abruptly at the bottom of the stairs, but her housemate does not. Anakin ventures past the tiny kitchen into the back of the house. If someone else lived there, it may have been a living room. This was not.

This was a library. Floor to ceiling shelves surrounded Anakin on nearly all sides, broken only by the doorway she was standing in and the sliding glass door across from her, leading out to a small patio. Her footsteps slow on the round rug in the center of the room, grounded by two soft armchairs, a low table covered in loose papers, and a floor lamp bathing the room in warm, golden light.

"This is  _ insane _ ," Anakin splutters at the woman seated across the room from her. "Do you live here year-round or something? There's no way you got all of this here on move-in day."

That startles a small laugh from her. She doesn't reply immediately, instead pausing to raise a steaming mug of tea to her lips and blow on it gently. 

"No, I'm not quite that ambitious. I've spent the last few years building my collection. Some I've purchased myself, some were given to me by students, some seemed to just show up on the shelf."

Reality cracks cold at the base of Anakin's skull. 

"You're a professor."

"Associate Professor of English, yes. My students call me Professor Kenobi."

Anakin swallows and forgets her own name. They put her up with a fucking  _ professor _ of all people. She wishes she could laugh at how ridiculous it all is, but she can't seem to stifle the white-hot irritation rising in her gut, stoked hotter by how casually  _ Professor Kenobi _ was treating the whole situation. 

She knows they barely let her into this school in the first place. She had to scrape and claw and beg and plead, belly up, for them to let her in. Naive, or maybe stupid, she'd first sent in her accolades and awards, chronologically listing every coding and robotics competition she'd ever won.  _ We are very sorry to inform you-  _ She scraped the rest of her dignity together and rode out another semester of community college. With her tail between her legs, swallowing her pride, she gave it one more go and sat up in the cab of her truck until sunrise crafting her personal essay. She wrote about her mom. She wrote about the accident. And she wrote about her arm. The acceptance letter arrived so late in the summer Anakin was sure it wouldn't come at all, and the amount of zeroes on the scholarship offer made her dizzy, made her nearly sick with an emotion she didn't have the words for.

They barely let her in, of course they'd keep her on a short leash. They gave her a fucking babysitter.

The sound of Professor Kenobi's voice rips her out of her own mind, gives her whiplash.

"You're Anakin, I hope? I hadn't planned such a lackluster welcome, but considering how late in the day it was-"

Late- 

"Wait. What time is it?" This day just gets better and better. She's going to be late. She needs something to go right today, anything.

"5:57, why do you-"

" _ Shit! _ I'll be back. I have to go. I'll move my stuff off the table later."

The battery in Anakin's arm beeps a warning, but she doesn't hear it. She bolts


	3. i think you're alright

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and god, you're so pretty  
> you smile's unforgiving

To say she's upset is a steep understatement. Anakin has been knocked so far off center she feels like she's standing under herself, upside down, a hollowed-out mirrored copy. On the one day that was supposed to clear the slate, give Anakin a fresh start, she feels like she’s been dragged across the jagged edges of every misstep that got her here. And she hasn’t even gotten her schedule yet.

She doesn't catch the names of any of the other transfer students in her group, and it's not for lack of trying. She's sure they're perfectly nice, really. She’d just had no idea how cold it would be so close to the coast after the sun had set, chilling breezes rolling in and nipping at Anakin's face, making the stump of her arm irritatingly sore against her tech. The east coast might as well be on another planet entirely compared to the dry, balmy nights back home. She's done her due diligence already, but she pretends a little longer to listen as the orientation leader finally stops droning through campus rules and guidelines from his makeshift on the stairs leading up to the entrance of the building.

She's fidgeting through all the manufactured enthusiasm, all the well-trained glee of a summer camp counselor, desperately willing herself not to veer back around to dwell on her new living situation. Maybe she’d get lucky and Professor Kenobi would be asleep by the time she slipped back in. The thought of having to drag her bags up to her room and attempting to quietly stretch clean sheets on her new bed makes her tired all over again. The tall wet grass soaks further into Anakin's socks and she would gnash her teeth if she were any less self-aware. It's already too much. Arms crossing tighter over her chest, Anakin hears the words  _ team-building _ and  _ scavenger hunt _ and thinks she's done more than enough to earn herself a smoke break.

As her group is joined by the approach of another from across the patio to form a team, Anakin slips away in the chaotic mingling against the large shadow of the anthropology building. Her map is long forgotten back in her car, and she doesn't dare venture back to it just yet. Instead, she lets the clear night guide her deeper between unfamiliar buildings, smaller in their vacancy than they'd seemed in the daylight. As she goes on, trudging through the dark with her hands stuffed into her pockets for warmth, the buildings start to look less like lecture halls and more like small houses. Her tall shadow stretches even longer under the streetlamps, further and further apart until they stop altogether in front of a wrought iron gate, swung wide open.

_ They would've closed it if they didn't want anyone getting in, right? _

The small drive abruptly turns gravel and leads Anakin up to the face of a white shiplap church. Aside from the streetlamps that disappeared completely a quarter mile back, only the moon and stars lit the grounds, no sign of campus life all the way out here. Wherever  _ here _ is. Certainly not part of the main campus.

Anakin huffs a little laugh out of her nose and reaches for the pack of cigarettes in her pocket. This is the precise moment when the battery in her prosthetic decides to die, metal discs whining as her grip goes slack it falls to hang heavy at her side, elbow locked and fingers limp. The limited sensation in her hand dies with it, the carbon fiber appendage a dead weight at her side. _ Oh, great. _ Too set on her intended task to even waste time getting more upset, Anakin awkwardly reaches around with her flesh arm to wrestle her cigarettes from her pocket, thumbing one out of the carton to catch between her lips.

It's a short walk around the side of the church to the graveyard where Anakin finally finds purchase, half-seated on the dark obelisk of a headstone. She's only halfway through her cigarette, the impression of her lighter still warm against her palm, when she hears light footsteps behind her, the telltale crunch and snap of twigs and leaves.

"Well, there goes my hiding spot." 

Anakin almost jumps out of her skin. The voice is still a good distance behind her. She whips around to locate its source, half-expecting to see a ghost, instead greeted with the short and slender silhouette of another student. She feels the beginnings of a headache blooming at the base of her skull.

"Aren't you new? How did you find the hidden grave already, anyway?" 

_ What? _ Her brain clunks along, trying to catch up to the present, fuzzy and overstimulated from her whirlwind of a day. It’s as if chaos followed her like a puppy. A poorly trained puppy. So much for a quick escape.

"Hello? You can’t just ignore me. I see you right there."

Anakin sees her too, now, stepping close enough that she can mostly make out dark eyes and darker hair, the girl’s crossed arms and softly disapproving scowl, and her navy crew neck with the word "O-Team" printed across the chest in large white font.

She can't catch a break.

Anakin takes a defiant drag of her cigarette, the gentle rush of nicotine nursing all her sharp edges back into manageable territory.

"What do you mean it's hidden?" she asks after a beat, her breath a cloud that dissipates quickly in the cool night air between them. Anakin's eyes adjust a little as she blinks, appraising the figure before her with a little more clarity. "It's just out here in the open for anyone to sit on."

The girl steps closer still and Anakin's heartbeat thrums a little harder against her ribcage as she takes her in. The traces of a scowl still color her face, but with all the seriousness of a child in her oversized orientation team shirt.

"Look up," she says.

Anakin balks.

"What?"

"Just look up! At the top of the grave."

Anakin cranes her neck back and squints up at the point of the stone, frowning as she tries to make out the words upside down, doubly blinded by the dark.

"Hidden," she reads the name out loud, glancing back at the orientation leader, whose frown has turned into a warm smile. Anakin's heart can't keep up.

_ Oh. _

She's not sure who starts laughing first, because they're shortly cut off by more footsteps on the gravel drive to the church, the light of multiple flashlights and a gaggle of indiscernible voices chasing them both from the warm bubble of their reverie.

"Shoot, they're coming this way," the girl whispers. Anakin finds herself being yanked up by her limp hand and then they're running. "Follow me."

Anakin laughs incredulously and the girl leading them dangerously further into the wet grass shushes her, stifling giggles of her own. The night air blasts colder still against them as they run haphazardly through rows of headstones and then down through tangling brush until a sweeping treeline blots out the stars above them. She can't see it well under the dark canopy, but Anakin feels damp dirt underfoot as the mouth of a path opens up and beckons the pair further down a hill. She doesn't ask where they're going, panting too hard and grinning despite herself, minding mangled roots and sharp rocks with every step. 

With the neural transmitters dead, Anakin can't sense anything below the scarred stump of her elbow, pulled along only by the round socket binding her tech to her arm. She wishes she could feel the warmth of skin against her hand. She wishes she could squeeze this stranger's fingers in hers.

Anakin's legs burn with exertion as the girl slows. She releases Anakin's hand to swing numbly back and knock against her thigh as the trees break one last time, opening up to a small stretch of beach. Reeds and grass on either side of them rustle in the gentle breeze that nudges soft waves up to lap at the rocky shore. Anakin shivers.

"I think we lost them," she breathes, panting, flushed, and smiling.

"I think I lost my cigarette."

That earns Anakin a scoff. "Good. You aren't supposed to be smoking out here anyway."

"What? This isn't even campus property."

"Well, okay, it's not. But we're allowed to host events here only because the church is nice enough to let us! So campus rules still apply."

Anakin rolls her eyes hard enough that she imagines the sentiment conveys even in the dim light reflecting off of the water.

"Plus, we're all supposed to be abstaining from drugs and alcohol during orientation week anyway," she explains to Anakin with all the sincerity of a Girl Scout.

"Pfft. I'd hardly call anything you can buy at a gas station a  _ drug." _

Anakin can tell even in the dark that this girl is unimpressed but she doesn't say anything else, electing instead to brush sand from a large piece of driftwood peeking out from the reeds and plopping herself down on it once she finds it suitable.

Anakin sits beside her, her flesh arm almost knocking into her as she gets comfortable. "It's not like you could report me anyway. You don't even know my name."

The soft laugh that earns her makes Anakin blush. "Yes, I do. You're Anakin Skywalker."

"What-"

"Relax, everyone knows who you are.” Like that’s supposed to make her feel better.

“Everyone?”

“Mhmm.” She’s smiling and gesticulating gently as she babbles, shoulders turned in towards Anakin. “And Bail has been talking about you since the O-Team move-in last week - he was so upset when he found out they were letting someone transfer in so late. It completely goes against the code of conduct. The admission cutoff was in July!"

Anakin’s cheeks are burning, feeling both bone-searingly  _ seen _ and wildly lost. "Okay, seriously. What?"

The slight girl at Anakin’s side just shrugs as if she's just given a clarifying response. "I guess the admissions officer convinced some higher-up that you were something special. I mean - not that you aren't! I just thought - well, when I heard about your STEM achievements from high school I thought - I don't know, I didn't think you'd be-"

"- disabled?" Anakin tries.

"- a girl."

Maybe Anakin could shove the rest of her leg in her mouth while she already has her foot in there.

Quiet unfurls between the pair, punctuated only by the cacophony of crickets, unseen night birds, and gentle waves rolling in against the pebbled beach. The dark surface of the river glints brightly in ripples while Anakin’s mind races, asking thirty coinciding questions at once. Every single one seems to send her around in a dizzying circle.

Luckily, the girl relieves them both as she rises to her feet to stand directly in front of Anakin, the bun atop her head blocking out the moon.

"C'mon, let's get out of here.” She sticks out her hand. “I don't hear anybody nearby, I think they found the box I put under the bench.

The walk _ back  _ to campus is easier, and Anakin is almost able to quell the stream of questions rattling around in her mind. She’s able to appreciate the companionable silence between them now, trying to picture the buildings and the vacant lamp-lined paths as they might look during the day, teeming with life. She lets herself be led back to the anthropology building, turning quietly towards her Bronco, now the only car left in the lot.

She opens her mouth, but her nameless acquaintance beats her to it.

“I promise not to rat you out to your orientation leader if you promise to not let me see another cigarette in your mouth."

"No promises,” she clicks, fingering the keys in her pocket. “Uh-”

"Well, this is me,” she gestures towards the large brick building a stone’s throw away across the empty street. “Goodnight, Anakin." 

"Wait a sec! I didn’t get your name."

A beat. They both blink.

"Oh! I was so surprised to meet you, I guess I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Padmé, the SGA senator for the girls’ dorm. I'm sure I'll see you around. It's a pretty small campus." Her smile hammers a wedge into Anakin’s heart.

"No kidding. Have a safe night, Padmé."

The brief drive back is a blur. Anakin thanks the universe itself when she finds the door to the townhouse unlocked this time. She creeps up the stairs as quietly as she can, her belongings lying forgotten on the dining room table. The other bedroom in the hall is shut, but warm light leaks out from beneath the door. Anakin barely notices. She feels exhaustion hit her like a freight train as she steps into what must be her own bedroom. Every sleepless night in the cab of her truck during the last week of her trek across the country finally catches up to her all at once.

Moonlight spills in through the curtainless window opposite the neatly made bed. Anakin wrenches her arm from its socket and sets it down on the empty desk in the corner of the room, nearly tripping over her shoes as she kicks them off. 

She doesn’t strip out of her day clothes before falling unceremoniously atop the bed, not bothering to pull the covers up over herself. The smell of dirt and sweat and cigarette smoke makes her nose wrinkle, but that’s a problem for Future Anakin. Present Anakin rolls onto her back with a groan and wiggles into her pillow to get comfortable.

  
_ Padmé. Padmé.  _ She sounds the name out silently towards the ceiling, rolling the syllables around on her tongue, letting her leaden eyelids shut. She falls asleep like that, arm tucked up against her chest, and dreams of angels.


	4. you surprise me with new cocoons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my mouth it's always in a melee  
> figuring out how as it talks  
> your response was comforting  
> I guess I gave you butterflies too

_ "Hey, mom? Do I have to go to school tomorrow?" Anakin wrings her hands in her lap under the kitchen table, her peanut butter sandwich sitting untouched on the plate in front of her. _

_ Shmi cuts off the kitchen tap and wipes her hands dry on her skirt before rounding the counter, brows furrowed. _

_ "Why, are you feeling alright?" _

_ "I'm okay, I just really don't want to go tomorrow. Could I stay here while you're at work? I'll be good. Promise." _

_ Shmi presses the back of her hand to her daughter's forehead, her expression tight with concern. _

_ "Well, you don't seem to have a fever. You haven't gotten sick, have you? You've barely eaten your snack." _

_ "Mom, I'm fine," Anakin presses, exasperated and squirming in her seat. "I just wanna stay home." _

_ They stay like that for a moment, a stripe of afternoon sun bleeding a golden stripe between the kitchen curtains. Anakin turns to take her mother's hands, but hesitates, grabbing two small fistfulls of her skirt instead. _

_ "Something bad happened yesterday," she finally admits, looking down. "I'm not in trouble. But I don't want anyone else to get hurt. And I think Melee is mad at me." _

_ "Did you two get into a fight?" _

_ "No! I mean, I don't think so. I don't even know what I did, it just hurt so bad." _

_ "You hurt each other?" _

_ "I didn’t mean to,” Anakin mumbles, clenching her fists. The threat of tears stings unbidden at the corners of her eyes as damp fingers card gently through her hair. “Amee pushed her down on the blacktop. I wanted to hit Amee so bad for doing that, but she ran away, so I was gonna help Melee get up.” _

_ “You’re a good friend, Ani. You’re not the one who pushed her. Did you tell your teacher?” _

_ Anakin can’t make herself look at her mother’s tired smile, shaking her head insistently. "I didn’t even help her up! I grabbed her hand and it was like - it was like my whole head was burning inside, like it was on fire, and then Miss Milbur just picked Melee up and it stopped and she was crying and crying. And then I was crying too and,” she hiccups, throat burning as she wills herself not to sob. “And I felt so bad. I didn't mean to make her cry. I just wanted to help. And I didn't even get to say sorry because she went to the nurse and I can’t- I can't go to school tomorrow because I don't know what I'm supposed to say to her. I don’t know what I did wrong. I just wanted to help and I just hurt her even more.” _

_ At a loss for words, Shmi pulls Anakin’s head against her stomach, letting her sniffle against her shirt. She runs her fingers through her daughter’s darkening curls, and thinks how young she looks and how small she must feel, how her emotions might always be too big for her body to hold. _

\--

It’s safe to say that Anakin’s first morning on campus had been nothing short of a disaster.

Strike one: She was late, naturally. Twenty minutes late. Like, the ‘ _ I have no idea how to get from the IT office to the science building because I didn’t have time to grab my campus map from my truck because I had to charge my bionic arm while trying to put cream cheese on a bagel with one hand - do you know how hard that is? - before running out the door. Can you give me directions?’  _ kind of late.

Strike two: Okay, this one wasn't even Anakin's fault, really. She didn’t  _ mean _ to be rude. Thinking she had missed her meeting with her advisor entirely as she stormed into the seemingly empty office, she'd slammed the side of her fist against the doorframe with a breathy curse. The office chair at the lone desk creaked and seemed to roll of its own accord out from behind the dual monitors before a man with scant white hair and standing no more than four feet in height appeared before her, rapping a cane against the floor as one might impatiently tap their foot. Anakin's heart leapt into her throat.

He sized her up and slowly nodded to himself, gesturing to the chair opposite his desk with his cane.

"Anakin Skywalker. Sit."

She sat.

Thirty minutes later, after subtly scathing chastisement and uncomfortably prodding questions, Anakin had made it out of that stuffy office with nothing to show for it save for her further wounded ego and her class schedule, crumpled in her hand. She could live with knowing she barely made the cut, but being openly questioned about her choice in major made Anakin feel very small. 

She bristled, hot anger rolling off of her in waves as she trudged home under the sun-dappled trees lining the main path through campus, still as lush and green as the ending swell of summer. Losing herself in the bustle of the first day of returning student move-ins, Anakin’s simmering frustration receded neatly into a cooling singe in the back of her mind by the time she’d toed off her shoes in the foyer of her house.

Well, not just  _ her _ house. A small flash of irritation struck her again at the memory of the wildly uninspiring first impression she must’ve given her new housemate, who was seated at the small dining room table, tapping the end of her pen against a small stack of paper.

“Ah, hello there, Anakin. I was wondering when we’d get the chance to formally meet.”

Strike three:

“I just think the whole thing is a little ridiculous. We’re two grown adults. I don’t see why we can’t just approach each situation as it comes. You know, manage the moment or whatever,” Anakin shrugs, jutting her chin out defiantly. Heaven forbid they even try to live as two mutually agreeable cohabitants before drawing lines in the sand.

“While I’d appreciate the opportunity to do so, I seem to find myself unable to manage much of anything while I’m asleep.”

Anakin musters every ounce of good manners she might have left for the day in an attempt not to roll her eyes through the minutes upon minutes of pen scratching paper. She tries to make herself comfortable, sinking further into her chair at the too-short dining table as Profes- as  _ Obi-Wan _ etches out the specifics of the roommate agreement she’d insisted upon. Apparently eating the last bagel in the house was an egregious affront to etiquette.

“I already apologized,” she mutters. “I- I was running late. I’ll buy you a fresh bag of bagels when I go pick up groceries tomorrow.”

Obi-Wan quirks an eyebrow from across the table. “Well, I was talking about the grounds you’d left in the coffee maker, but I suppose I can add that as well.”

Anakin stifles a groan and folds her arms tighter against her chest, sinking into her chair as Obi-Wan tacks on another bullet to their now two page long roommate agreement. She wonders if maybe she could’ve held off another semester back home, maybe they would’ve let her defer enrollment, maybe she would get a normal roommate in a normal dorm with normal problems. They probably didn’t even allow coffee makers in the dorms. Anakin sighs. The clock on the wall says she has three and a half- no, four hours until she has to go meet her orientation group for a late lunch at the main dining hall across campus. And afterwards, the club fair. Something about organized social events makes Anakin’s skin crawl. Smiling for photos with her mom, medal in hand, in a crowded gymnasium packed with every robotics team in the state feels like a lifetime ago. She supposes it might as well be, for all it matters now.

“Now, with that settled, I think it’s only fair if we establish a curfew to suit both our schedules,” Obi-Wan continues, finally looking up, her pointed look snapping Anakin back to the present.

This is turning out to be a long fucking week.

\--

With a full belly and a cigarette calling her name, Anakin finds it easy to slip down and out of the dining hall and into the humid afternoon. It is seemingly less easy, however, to slip through the sudden thrumming crowd, full and bustling with unbridled excitement around the rows of tables set up on the patio outside. She could hear the club fair setting up from her shared dinner table in the hall, but hadn’t imagined it’d be the social event of the week. She has little desire to relive the highs and lows of high school extracurriculars with the added collegiate variables of sexual tension and seemingly unlimited access to alcohol.

Anakin wrinkles her nose and thumbs a smoke into her mouth, evaluating her options for a quick escape from the cover of the awning, scanning the thickening crowd with a pinched expression.

“I thought I told you not to let me see you smoking again,” a familiar voice teases over the din, its owner slipping politely between two members of the sailing club and into view.

“It's not even lit," Anakin sputters defensively, cigarette filter sticky against her dry lips.

Padmé gives her a pained look but says nothing else as she brushes her hair from her shoulder, bare save for the strap of her sundress, and  _ that  _ makes Anakin pull the damned thing from her mouth and tuck it behind her ear.

“Before you ask, I’m not interested in student government.”

“Actually, I'm tabling for  _ The Millaflower.” _

“What is that, like, the student newspaper?”

Anakin thinks her heart might give out from the way Padmé’s laugh sent it spiralling. 

“I did consider that as a first-year, but I wanted the writing experience without all of the pressure. I have enough deadlines.”

“So... what then, miss renaissance woman?”

“Come with me, I’ll show you.”

Something mischievous glints in the dark of Padmé’s eyes as she shares a small smile and Anakin finds herself once again caught in her pull, wholly entranced in the way her dress flutters out behind her. Anakin follows her into the crowd despite herself. The swarm of students doesn’t fill her with the sense of helplessness and choking anxiety she’d anticipated. The deafening cacophony of sheer excitement seems to muffle around them in those moments as they weave around tables and groups of friends, though none as caught in their own private bubble as Anakin in Padmé’s.

“Anakin, this,” Padmé says and stops all at once, and Anakin almost slams into her back, “This is the staff of our esteemed literary magazine,  _ The Millaflower. _ ” A dozen eyes look up at the newly arrived pair, turning warmly to accept them into the semicircle of students huddled around the table, almost hidden from the rest where it was tucked in the far corner of the patio near the library.

“ _ Padmé! _ ” The girl on Anakin’s right shrieks and nearly leaps to pull the brunette into a crushing hug. “Please tell me the reason you’re so late is because you were so  _ incredibly _ busy scouting a junior editor for us.”

Anakin feels warmth rush to her face at the handful of conspicuous looks directed at her, as if they can see her sweaty palm and racing heart.

“Not exactly,” she sheepishly admits, leading her two companions to the other side of the table where a small pile of books fanned neatly across the surface. Each one was printed with a different image, but they all read  _ The Millaflower  _ at the top in the same font. “I was actually on my way back from dropping off some paperwork when I ran into a friend.” Padmé winks over her shoulder and Anakin thinks she might melt right where she stands.  _ Did I make that up? I made that up. This girl can’t be real, she barely even knows me, we literally met yesterday, I don’t even know if she’s- _

“Teckla, this is Anakin. Anakin, this is the girl who pulls all the strings and somehow makes our little magazine read like true literary canon every semester.”

“It wouldn’t be such a feat if you’d just submit your work at any time other than the last possible second!” Teckla jabs with a grin.

Feeling a little awkward, Anakin politely extracts herself and listens distantly to the girls heckle each other as she picks up what looks to be the most recent edition of the lot from the table, thumbing through it slowly with her flesh hand. She finds what she’s looking for almost immediately, and can’t help the way the corners of her mouth twitch into a small smile as she reads the title in full: “Mutual Tolerance as Political Virtue in Postmodern Poetry” by Padmé Naberrie-Amidala.

_ Huh. _

“I know what you’re thinking, and I agree with you.”

This time, Anakin is startled into a soft laugh, and it feels as natural as breathing. From over Padmé’s shoulder, Anakin can see that Teckla has rejoined the rest of the group, and seems to be fielding questions from a group of freshmen, if their lanyards and brand new backpacks are any indication. Padmé plucks the book from Anakin’s hand and sets it down on the table beside her without looking, crowding her space. Anakin’s first instinct is to step back into a social distance more appropriate for acquaintances. She doesn’t move.

“Seriously, it’s not my best work. I hope you didn’t get very far.”

“Yeah, what a snoozefest. I almost dozed off reading the title.”

“You’re making fun of me!” Padmé’s eyes go wide but she’s smiling brightly, evidently pleased. “You shut down on me back there. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Anakin slides her prosthetic hand from her pocket to pick at the frayed fibers at the cuff of her sleeve. “No, you didn’t do anything wrong. I just don’t tend to write unless it’s for a grade, you know? Mechanical engineering major here. I’m kind of out of my element.”

“Oh, believe me, I was the same way. I still am, mostly. Poli sci, through and through.” She turns briefly back to her friends behind her with a soft look before blinking back at Anakin with intent. “I used to think people who wrote purely for fun were nuts. Well, okay, now I  _ know _ they’re nuts, but you know what I mean. I couldn’t connect the idea of functional and evocative writing with the passion you get from creative writers.”

“You had an ‘O’Captain, My Captain’ moment?” 

Padmé grins. “Only in the way it made me feel. I know it’s cliche, but I took a poetry survey course as my lower level English elective. My professor fought me tooth and nail trying to get me to submit something to our literary magazine. I gave in and the rest is history.”

Anakin catches herself smiling back. She tries to imagine a world where essays and stories and poems match the way the world sings when she’s under the hood of her truck or elbow deep in tangled circuitry. “I think you’re trying to sell me on it.”

“Oh, yeah? Is it working?”

It’s not, but Anakin would rather eat glass than tell her that. This girl’s smile warms her to her core, and she has no idea why someone with so much already on her plate would give her the time of day.

“I plead the fifth,” Anakin says, bringing both her hands up beside her face and splaying her fingers wide.

“Then I suppose I’ll have to give you the location of the cave where we hold our secret poetry readings,” Padmé teases, reaching into the pocket of her dress to pull out her phone. “We can’t have just anyone hearing about it, though. Maybe I can text it to you?”

Anakin beams.


End file.
